Ills, thriving on carts with colourful wheels,
Errors, steaming from grey pots of ignorance,
Rotten stars, smiling gaily from above.
Wherewithal shall salvation be?
Corrupted gems, polluted treasures,
Thieves, with ties and well-suited suits,
Men with the belly of a ball, in flowing agbada.
Unto which rock shall we call for safety.
A ghostly town, with dead men walking,
Chaotic pieces of peace, all in topsy-turvy,
Brilliant dreams, aborted before conception
Slithering serpents stealthily steal the future.
The life of a thing is in his blood,
So, a man was said to die to save the world.
The blood of a pen is its ink,
Literary sages, please bleed till all is saved.
Weave the mighty wand,
Heal our ills with your words.
Pen our errors,
Ink the way out.
Let the truth you scribble down on colourless papers
Be the compass that points our wandering sail back north.
_____
Theophilus Ogundeji, with the pen name afrophilus, writes from Obafemi Awolowo University, Osun State. He is a student journalist in the said institution but can be whatever he wants when he reads or writes. He can be found on Instagram @afrophilus.
Sub-Saharan Magazine 